Disclaimer: Harry Potter ain't no creation o' mine ya hear?
Notice: I don't bash. I don't do bashing. Characters will be portrayed to the best of my ability as canon to start with. A warning. I will probably dramatically diverge them as the story goes on.
Forward: So readers, on average seemed to have liked this most recent chapter. Thats good. I'm happy to find that. 200 reviews for a 45k word story. Eh. Not bad. Could be better. But then, I could update faster too, couldn't I?
Sorry about that. Military life leaves some time but not as much as I used to have, and losing my lady, along with the release of the final Wheel of Time book isn't exactly helping. I did finish the book but now my head is swimming in a realm of awesome and not likely to come down any time soon.
Of course I am writing this now so hopefully I'm at least not completely gone. Hehe. I'm tempted to start a Wheel of Time: Happily Ever After ficcy but I'd probably just ruin it.
Ah well. In honor.
There are neither beginnings, nor will there ever be endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. Instead this single ending is but a signal for others to someday fly higher, and shine brighter still. Look back on fallen sunsets with fondness but never take more than one eye off the horizon; you never know when you might miss an even greater burst of sunshine.
Error of Soul
"I call her a flighty temptress, Adventure, but the truth is that once you finally rest your head on her soft lap, she's really quite the comely wench. A tad clingy, too."
–Albus Dumbledore
"Ah, Hermione! Harry, good to see you, lad," said the ever-enigmatic Albus Dumbledore as the two of them stepped into his office off of the rotating staircase that led to it.
Harry grit his teeth. Albus had been utterly ignoring him for the better part of three months and now he decides to talk? He folded his arms and gave the older man a pointed, dour look, then turned away.
"No need to be so rude Harry!" came Hermione's admonishment. In his head. In his bloody head. Hell she probably wouldn't have even noticed his reaction if not for the bond. She bloody hero worshipped Dumbledore just because of his title!
Harry fervently wished he could have that thought back, as the girl promptly glared at him, then folded her arms in sharp imitation of his own stance and turned towards the headmaster. Even so, she couldn't help the thought any more than he could his own.
"Better he gets my respect then a silly boy who won't stop whining like a big baby."
The girl's eyes widened and she put her hands over her mouth as if unbelieving of what she'd just said.
Harry was struck dumb. "Wh-whining!?" He said allowed.
"Oh Harry, I didn't mean it like... well... like it..."
Her thoughts told an entirely different story as they went on thinking her true emotions while her voice stuttered and died. "Well I did mean it! I just didn't want to offend you!"
"Well you bloody did!" hissed the boy-who-lived aloud.
"N-no! That's... I'm sorry!" Hermione's thoughts sounded before her words could catch up and the girl's face scrunched into a contrite and defensive frown.
"Children... if you might turn your thoughts away from your rather one-sided conversation for but a moment?" Albus's voice cut in, effectively derailing the entire internal dialogue the two were unwillingly sharing.
Both sets of eyes snapped to Dumbledore, and regarded the man with different degrees of anger. Hermione felt partly annoyed that she'd lost the final word on showing Harry how much of a stubborn mule he was being, and Harry was angry at the both of them.
"The killing curse has been survived once again. Has it not?" he asked simply.
Chapter Five
Lightning Chain
Anger died. Hermione and Harry were both stunned speechless at the jolt back to reality.
Harry suddenly felt immensely guilty. He was lucky Hermione was even alive. She'd leapt in front of a Killing Curse for him, and here not two days later he was in a seething rage at her for something as petty as... well. A stray thought.
Hermione, quite similarly, found herself feeling slightly justified, but guilty all the same. Harry had walked with a half sliced leg and grabbed a frozen killing curse from its place at her neck. And she berated him for being a child.
That had not been the action of a child.
"Sorry Professor," both intoned, to Dumbledore's private amusement.
"Quite all right, quite all right indeed. Now, on to business. Hermione Granger. Would you so kindly remove the scarf and sit up here?" he asked, the usual twinkle in his eye as he gestured to a tall chair in the center of his office that Harry had never seen before.
"O-Of course sir," said the stricken girl. Guilt plagued her and Harry felt it as it seeped in through his veins, a dragon hiding in the bottom of his throat.
Hermione relieved herself of her knitted scarf gingerly, and handed it to Harry.
"Er... Sorry Hermione. I didn't mean to get so angry," Harry said with conviction, and he truly meant it. The girl was his best friend, aside from Ron. Maybe even better. The whole world grew askew if Hermione was angry with him. The sight of the now permanent blemish upon the once creamy smooth skin of her neck served as a potent reminder of her loyalty and friendship.
Hermione felt Harry's complete sincerity and it served to alleviate her reservations.
"That's alright Harry. I do wish you would show more respect for your elders, though. Professor Dumbledore has done nothing but help you since you've come to Hogwarts," Hermione replied, direly wanting the last word. "And... I also wish you would stop being so distant Professor. It... it has really been driving Harry quite mad lately.
Satisfaction wafted across the bond from Harry and Hermione favored him with a happy smile that he returned in kind. Maybe this bond wasn't so bad after all.
"Ah... well that was another rather foolish thing I've done. One of a long list of them, I fear. Foolishness has a way of breeding in old minds," Dumbledore said, his words spinning riddles on a whim. "You see Harry, I thought avoiding contact with you would be the best way I could protect you. I feared he would use the link between you to invade your mind and attack me, regardless of the damage such actions might bring to you."
Sitting down on the tall chair, Hermione allowed the headmaster to pull a short stool up to her side and seat himself.' Sounds reasonable. Though if he could use the link to destroy Harry, then why wouldn't he just do it? Destroy Harry's mind and be done with it.'
'Hermione... I'm right here,' Harry's voice in her mind sounded a bit petulant.
Hermione felt the tell tale pressure of Harry's hand on his forehead as he rubbed it. Her own headache, one she hadn't even realized she'd had until that moment, began to throb. The pressure of Harry's hand did seem to help a little though. Her sympathy and guilt fed through the bond formed the apology easily.
Harry had trouble taking offence in the light of true regret seeping through their ever strengthening bond.
"That's alright Hermione. I know what you meant. But she's right professor," Harry said turning back towards Dumbledore questioningly.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "About what, if I may ask?"
Harry blinked. "Err..."
Hermione sighed. "He's obviously figured it out Harry. Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry and I seem to have a soul bond."
"I'd quite noticed," Dumbledore replied with a laugh. "Its left me quite unsure what to make of the two of you. You're conversation is strenuously difficult to follow."
Harry barked a laugh, in genuine humor. "Perhaps that's what you get for always speaking in riddles!"
The wizened Headmaster's face split into a wide grin. "You may be right Harry. Though allow me to guess the train of your thought. You wonder why it is Voldemort does not simply invade your mind, Harry? Fine, I shall be plain. Your Soul Bond with young Granger, while surely inconvenient as you've come to notice, provides us with an unexpected advantage."
Hermione began rubbing her forehead in time with Harry. "You're definition of being plain still leaves a little to be desired... sir."
On his perch, Fawkes trilled a harmonious note, seemingly adding its sentiment to Hermione's own. It was almost as if the bird agreed. Further, it flew, startling Hermione before landing on her shoulder. The girl flailed her arms comically in flight before a great calm set over her.
Harry felt the tight, yet comforting weight settle upon his own shoulder and smiled. Fawkes was amazing. His brief headache seeped away stolen by the bird's mere presence.
"Ah. Thank you Fawkes!" She smiled up at the phoenix on her shoulder and the majestic bird trilled once more.
"So... the soul bond is protecting me?" Harry questioned though it was slightly rhetorical.
"What is a Soul Bond, Professor? We can't seem to get a straight answer from anyone! Ron clamped up and wouldn't say anything..." Hermione asked, earnesty in her voice.
Harry felt something different. An almost malevolent need to know. Harry had never confronted Hermione's thirst for knowledge quite so closely before. Now it screamed for sustenance, like a woman lost in the desert might scream for water.
He was startled. Had she always been so... fervent? Feeling as he was, even he felt a near conscious desire to claw Dumbledore's mouth until it released the words of knowledge Hermione craved.
Hermione glanced towards Harry, aware of his sudden unease, but not capable discerning why. Heavy feeling without an active thought was still lost to her. So, there was some privacy at least. If she could avoid thinking...
"Might as well try to catch the sun and put it in a treasure box."
Of course Harry had no idea what that meant.
Dumbledore watched the quick exchange with exaggerated patience. Finally when it seemed as if the two had come to a brief close in their endless conversation, he spoke.
"Mr. Weasley... always trying to look out for the two of you. I assume he thought you would be better able to handle the change if you didn't know what to expect. Alas... he is sorely wrong on this point. Please give him my apologies. A Soul Bond, is just that Miss Granger. Young Harry and yourself, or rather, your magical cores, have developed a dependence upon one another. Much like your own friendship, your magic has found a mirror in that of the other. One so potent that it has decided to forge a permanent link. Put more simply, your magics... are fond of one another. Or... that's the theory anyway."
They both blushed at the implication and Dumbledore's easy smile.
"And... what advantage is that? Ron acts like its the end of the world! Madam Pomfrey was almost in tears when she found out!" Hermione spat in return.
Harry was content to remain quiet. Inside he agreed with Hermione's question.
Over on a shelf in the back corner, a small distance from the sorting hat, one of the chortling devices gave a small puff, letting loose a tiny cloud of smoke that quickly evaporated into nothing. This served to create a short lull in the conversation. Dumbledore took advantage of the moment to compose his thoughts.
"Well, the advantage is simple. Honestly it has likely saved your life already, and in more ways than merely blocking the killing curse." Dumbledore said, and it infuriated Hermione.
The girl tapped her foot impatiently, and Harry felt another burst of that terrible need from her. Harry felt overwhelmed by it. He'd wasn't sure if he'd ever felt so strongly about anything in his life.
Even so, she hid it well. Outwardly, Harry noticed absolutely no difference from how the girl would normally act. Even the tapping foot didn't seem out of place. How could he have ever known that such feeling hid behind that tiny impatient act. Had she always felt this way?
"A Soul Bond, among other things, provides both participants with nearly perfect defense of the mind," said the old man.
"The mind? You mean we can't, say... be obliviated?"
Dumbledore paused for a moment, as if stumped. "I... don't truly know, Miss Granger. I've never thought about it. Though it might go a long way to explaining how Mr. Lockhart's Oblivation spell was reverted in your second year Harry."
Harry's eyes widened. "This has been starting since Second Year!?" he burst aghast, his lower voice the only thing making his response louder than Hermione's shocked "What!?"
Before he could let them steer the conversation away again, Dumbledore continued with that insufferable smile, "In addition, I believe you should begin research into the art of harnessing your unique Soul Magic."
Their eyes widened further if that was possible. "Soul magic?"
"Are... are you going to teach us professor?" Hermione put forth timidly.
Dumbledore frowned for the first time since they'd entered the room. "I'm afraid not."
Harry seethed inwardly. Bloody hell he wished the man would teach him directly. If anything could prepare him to face Voldemort, as it seemed he would be doomed to do every year till the end of time, personal tutelage under Dumbledore would be the best thing he could hope for. Yet once again he was being denied–!
"I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea how." He confessed.
Harry was crushed, but Hermione was simply devastated. Unfound knowledge... the worst kind.
"I have only known two... couples I suppose who have been Soul Bonded in my long years." Dumbledore said solemnly.
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in thought. That didn't make sense. If Dumbledore who had lived more than a century, had only known two pairs of Soul Bonded people then why did the bond have its horrible reputation? Ron, Madam Pomfrey, even Lavender had reacted as if stung when they'd heard the word. Like they had personal family who had suffered from a deep affliction.
Harry was surprised by the deduction as Hermione's thoughts on the matter filtered over to him. "You're right Hermione. That is odd."
She favored Harry with a grin.
"Profess–" Hermione tried to voice her concern, encouraged by Harry's backing but the headmaster interrupted her before she could begin.
"Rather... I've only met two pairs who... who didn't grow to utterly loathe one another within the first several months."
Hermione and Harry's reactions were rather simple. Incomprehension.
"What?" they both voiced in unison.
Dumbledore held up a finger and began a lecturing tone that he had surely developed from long years as a teacher before reaching his position as Headmaster. "The stigma that surrounds the Soul Bond is rather potent due to the nature of the bond. Couples have reported sharing thoughts, feelings, even dreams, to a degree that utterly robs one another of all privacy. Most... unfortunately most relationships are incapable of enduring such stress. Friendships, relationships, even marriages have been destroyed by such bonds."
Harry looked to Hermione, who turned to look at him in turn.
"I can't lose Hermione... that's impossible."
"Harry...? Is that why Ron looked so sad? He is afraid Harry and I will...? Well, it does go a long way towards explaining why he isn't mad at Harry." Hermione thought to herself.
Unfortunately, with Harry listening in, it felt as if Hermione were talking about him behind her back. "Still here Hermione," he thought in her direction.
"Sorry Harry... I... I have trouble thinking as if talking to someone else. I'll try to stop talking about you as if your... erm... not here in my head."
Harry sighed and kept his eyes locked with the girl. "We can handle this, can't we Hermione? I mean... I can't lose you. You're my best friend... I could never..."
"No matter what happens. We'll always be friends Harry."
Weirdly, Harry felt a pang of regret at this. Even he couldn't explain why. Always be friends. That was good right? Always... friends... That had a sort of finality to it that Harry found discomforting. He didn't understand what he felt, so the emotion filtered to Hermione as a mild confusion.
Even so, Harry recovered quickly. "Yeah. We will," he turned back to face Dumbledore in the middle of his words. "We're not like those other pairs, Sir."
"But... there is no cure?"
And of course, Hermione's words stung Harry. Cure? Did she want to be away from him so badly? An utterly irrational thought, as he wanted to be rid of the bond as much as she did, yet it came across Harry's mind anyway.
Hermione, having now felt anxiety, confusion, and finally hurt from Harry with no direct thoughts to explain his feelings turned to stare at him. "What!? What did I say?"
"N-Nothing!"
"Children!" Dumbledore interrupted, bringing the both of them back on topic once more. "You will need to be guided by another pair that already has a Soul Bond. I would not have your friendship ruined without giving you the best possible chance to salvage it. I fear the stress of your situation may already be eroding your bonds. It is the Hedgehog's Dilemma at its strongest. The closer you grow, the more pain you will feel."
Hermione nodded. "You... said there were two? Two couples who didn't hate each other... in all your life? Who were they? "Only two, in all his life? Harry... are we strong enough to be the third?"
"Yes."
And for the first time, Hermione found herself struck dumb by Harry's emotion. He was a tightly bottled person. He also heard many more of her thoughts than she heard of his. He didn't think in a constant internal monologue as she did. But that emotion. That utter unfailing conviction. It would move mountains and swallow oceans. Her doubts faded. Yes. Of course they were strong enough.
Once again they smiled at one another. This roller coaster of emotion... both had been thrown in the front seat.
"You really are a Hero you know?"
Harry blushed. "Thanks. I wouldn't be anything without you though... and Ron of course."
"The first couple," said Dumbledore with an expression of grief. "I'm afraid they perished in the last war. But the second... well! I imagine they might be slightly offended to be called a couple, truly."
"Can we learn from them?" Hermione asked, excited.
For a third time pure need flowed through the bond. Harry couldn't stop the thought any more than he could... well. Catch the sun and put it in a treasure box.
"Does learning new things actually turn her on?" Harry's winced realizing quickly that the idle thought had not been private.
Hermione's jaw, predictably, dropped open. "Harry James Potter!" "I take it back! You're not a hero! Pervert! Closet pervert!"
"Ironic coming from a girl fresh from snogging in the broom closet!" retorted Harry.
"That was different! Ron... his kisses were..."
Of course that led to Hermione's emotion for Ron, and they were tinged with a sort of joy that Harry wanted no part of. Unfortunately the emotion didn't contain the context so instead of becoming truly green, Harry just grew... weirdly wistful.
Finally Dumbledore's patience had begun to wear thin. "Enough!" He shouted. He of course hadn't actually heard any of their argument. All he saw was the sudden, quickfire changes in expression. They told him more than enough.
Once again, the two were brought to heel; thoughts and attention turned to face the old headmaster. The twinkle was gone from his eye.
"As I feared... if a mere stray thought, one of no doubt relatively innocent nature, can send you to into such fits of anger at one another, perhaps we should separate you. The soul bond's advantage will not be lost for some time, more than enough to teach you both Occlumency, but if either of you... much as it pains me, were to transfer to another school the bond could slowly be bled until your magics are strong enough to pick back up without one another. However... getting rid of the bond would take years apart if it has already progressed as far as it seems to have."
Both their eyes widened. "NO!"
"Headmaster! You can't send Hermione away! She loves it here! I couldn't live without her here! Er... and Ron... She..."
"Harry loves this place! I won't let you take him from here! And from me! We're..."
As one the two realized what they were saying. Crimson was a pale word to describe the color their faces flushed to.
The headmaster's gentle smile returned. Master manipulator that he was, the children's reactions were unsurprising. "Well... then you're going to have to learn to live with the new quirks you are finding in each other. Fifteen is a difficult age for any young man or woman. I'm sure both of you are beginning to think of romance... You MUST learn to, if not accept, then at least tolerate the stray thoughts that cross your minds! Otherwise... I fear for your own safety that I truly may have to send one of you away."
Faced with an ultimatum like that, what could either of them say?
"Yes, sir." they intoned.
"Now," Dumbledore continued. "The second successful soul bond I've found in my years are a relatively young pair. You actually know them both quite well. They are a few years your senior."
Hermione was flummoxed. Who did they know that was their senior... with access to something so complicated? Remus perhaps? Auror Shacklebolt? Maybe...?
Harry, however, latched instantly on to the almost obvious conclusion.
"You...! Sir, you can't mean–!?"
"Aaahh-Choo!"
"Bless you, brother."
"Why thank you! Someone must be talking about us, Fred."
George shrugged. "If so, I feel sorry for Harry."
Fred nodded sagely. "Ah, indeed. He must never be able to stop sneezing."
"Quite."
Elsewhere in the castle, a bushy brown haired girl gave an almost mournful sigh. "Oh good lord..."
"Got it!" The raven-haired girl hissed with success as her fingers closed snugly around the golden snitch. Wind beat at her hair and the warming charms, along with her heavy Ravenclaw-colored coat, were the only things keeping her from freezing in the cool air of the evening.
Her broom was steady, her eyes filled with light. Joy filled her as it did so rarely these days. Few things took her from her brooding, but she could always count on Quidditch to bring her a smile. Success... She loved the feel of catching the snitch. Of winding around the stands as crowds cheered and glory of House and adoration of friends washed over her...
Unfortunately, this was merely practice. The crowds she had to imagine at the moment. Easy enough. She'd snagged several wins for Ravenclaw in her time as a seeker.
"Great catch Cho! Seven minutes and thirty six seconds!" Rodger Davies called up from below waving his hands like a madman.
Cho grinned. Seven minutes was pretty damn good. It was a bit different with bludgers running rampant about the pitch and other fliers obscuring everything. Worse, when you went for the snitch you instantly tipped off the other Seeker. Against Potter, that would destroy any chance of catching the snitch. He'd be on you and ahead before you could blink. The other two though? She could handle them. She could outfly Malfoy any day and ever since Hufflepuff had lost Cedric they couldn't...
Cedric...
She shook herself, forcing the tears to stay hidden in their endless wells. Cedric, oh Cedric.
God she was such a mess.
"Come down here Cho!" Rodger called jovially. Couldn't he see how she just wanted to let the snitch go and chase it again? Chase it for hours... let the rest of this cruel world just melt away until the only thing left was her, her broom, and her happier memories.
"But that would take away Harry too."
She fumbled her way down to her eccentric captain and feigned a grin. "Good right?"
"Good? Shiit, I think you can beat Potter with flying like that. And in this cold? Amazing!" He shouted. Rodger always shouted but the wind was particularly sharp today.
"That'll be the day..." She said somewhat bitterly. Rodger could never guess the bitterness was for herself and not Potter.
"Oh come on! Someone has to take Potter down and its sure not going to be Malfoy!" He replied.
"Well... we can only hope," Murmured Cho. Her mind was a thousand miles away. Mingled thoughts of the Boy-Who-Lived clouded her mind. Harry. Easy smile, goofy. He was cute when he blushed. She liked him. She liked him more than she cared to admit.
And she was a complete and total bitch for it. Cedric...? God how must he see her? Not even a year under fresh grave dirt and she was already falling in love with another boy. The boy who got him killed no less!
"God I'm such a mess," she repeated to herself, still forcefully willing tears to remain where they were, hidden away until she could be alone.
"Anyway it's getting late, you can go in if you want, Cho." Rodger said before straddling his broom once more and beginning to drift away.
"Hey Rodger, do we get to go in too!?" Came a voice from higher up. They both ignored it.
"What about you Rodger? Its getting really cold out. Are you planning on keeping the chasers out all night?" Cho asked in an effort to keep her cool and avoid bawling in the middle of the pitch.
"Er... yeah. I might at that." He replied candidly, a bit of a blush crawling up his cheeks.
She quirked an eyebrow. "Its... its nearly nine. Curfew's getting close Davies," She told him. "Maybe its best to pack up."
Rodger grimaced. "Ah... I'd... like to get as much out of tonight as possible."
Cho gave him a sad look. Rodger loved quidditch and he dearly wanted to win this year. Direly even. But...
"It's Weasley isn't it?" She asked. She didn't envy her team's chasers. Harry was incredible. Always had been really. But Weasley's first game showcased nearly world class quality.
"Its... damn! All this time we'd thought it was Potter we'd have to worry about, so I've been working with you and neglecting my own training. A new fresh Keeper and Wood finally out of the way, I thought we'd be able to trounce Gryffindor! But... Weasley was something else. The Quidditch World Cup didn't have keeping at his level! If... if we even want to think about a victory we're going to have to be out here every spare minute," he sighed. "I... don't think I'm good enough. So I'll stay out right till curfew."
Cho smiled. The golden trio. Damn bastards were more trouble than they were worth, and she felt a sort of odd kinship with Davies. "I'll stay out too then. Want a third beater, make it a bit more challenging?"
Davies beamed. "Thanks Cho. We could use all the help we can get."
Cho didn't mention that beating the living snot out of a few bludgers might be wonderfully cathartic for her. The DA was meeting again tomorrow night. Tomorrow night she'd have to deal with these perilous feeling that she couldn't seem to stop. But tonight... well. Tonight she'd could smash a ball or two.
Harry Potter...
Damn.
She was falling in love and she barely even spoke to him.
Cedric must hate her...
Hermione lay in her bed staring blankly at the bunk above her. All around her roommates nestled cozily and seemed to be sleeping thoughtlessly. Hermione wished she could be so thoughtless now. Powerless to stop it, all of her secrets were slowly spilling themselves out for Harry's perusal.
"Tolerate... yes. I can tolerate this," she said to herself lowly.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah?" Hermione spoke aloud.
"I didn't say anything," came Fay's quiet voice from a bunk away.
Hermione blushed. "Er sorry... I'll let you get back to sleep."
Fay cocked an eyebrow but then shrugged and snuggled back into her blankets. The night was chilly but the blankets were extremely warm. Hermione cuddled into them too, and felt Harry doing the same.
"I'm really sorry, you know. I... don't mean to... erm. Be... you know."
"A dirty pervert?" Hermione shot back in her mind, but this thought was sent with more than a little amusement. She felt laughter bleed through the bond and knew that Harry had accepted the jab for what it was.
"You're just as bad. I'd never realized just how much... attraction you felt for Ron. You argue all the time... it caught me off guard." Harry's words gave Hermione a long smile."Sorry for interrupting it."
Oh Harry. Always the noble hero. It wasn't a thought but it did cross her mind in an unconscious sort of way. Then his first thought filtered in and she feigned indignance.
"I am not nearly as bad as you! What I feel for Ron is genuine! Clean!" she laughed. Unfortunately thoughts have a way of running away. Keeping stray ones off her lips was easy. Keeping them off her mind... not so much.
"Of course I've thought about you in that broom closet with me too, though."
She lay back, rolling her neck and staring at the bunk above her. The thought seemed just fine to have. Then the blood drained from her face...
"T-Tell me you didn't just hear that...?" she begged. Her hands covered her face in sudden and complete shame. "I... it was an accident. I didn't mean! Er.. I... I... I!"
Laughter filtered across the bond. Huge gulping laughs that lightened Hermione's mood considerably. She was utterly embarrassed but Harry's amusement was affecting her.
"What...? its not as if you're unattractive Harry."
"Its just... surprising!"
"Oh, and the fact that you want to knock your boots with Cho in your room at the Weasley's wasn't supposed to be a shocker for me?" Hermione retorted. "In fact I'm surprised I'm not in any of your fantasies!"
Abruptly Hermione felt a flood of new emotions. Feelings. Powerful images that conveyed a whole deluge of fantasies. She could feel him frantically trying to collect his thoughts. Clear his mind, but he couldn't hold them back. They opened for her, his deepest thoughts of her emptied before her like a sack of treasures.
They coalesced into a hundred images. Risque images of herself in revealing clothing with a scandalous look about her flashed by at a thousand frames per second.
Harry refused to let that happen though. Hermione could tell that he had to will himself to drop the dirtier images in favor of one she wouldn't be offended by.
Honestly most of the images left her flattered more than offended, but the one he finished with left her with pure amusement.
Powerful. Harry, yet not Harry. A comically tall and muscled Harry Potter stood holding a Lightsaber from Star Wars. In the background, a menacing figure stood cloaked in shadow, his own red lightsaber flaring. Perhaps the most important feature of the image was Hermione. The stunning model of a woman with Hermione's face sheltering protected behind Harry and his blazing green blade of light was every bit as stunning as Harry's own image was comical.
It was Hermione's turn to laugh.
"Shut up! That was private!" Harry hissed, defensively.
"I don't think we have... private. Not anymore. I..." through her laughter Hermione wheezed. "Sorry. Harry. Heh..."
It was sweet in a way. Harry's fantasy of her, perhaps his strongest one, was protecting her.
Abruptly she realized a sudden and definite difference between the two of them.
Harry thought in pictures. Not words. All she had to do was learn to see what he was thinking. She'd been trying to hear it all this time, but unlike her, Harry didn't think the same way very often.
"So what sort of fantasies do you have about me then!?" Harry bated, interrupting her thought process. She'd been ready for that though. Hermione wasn't going to fall for the same trap.
"La la la la! Beatles in the summer! Springtime rain. Mother moppet! Laa laa laaa!" She thought furiously avoiding any thoughts regarding Harry. It worked.
"Unfair." he pouted.
She giggled.
"This is... actually kind of fun. What other little secrets are you hiding in that head of yours Harry Potter?" She asked.
He answered.
Hermione gulped at the next image. It was... Scary.
Dudley Dursley had been stabbed in the heart with a kitchen knife. His bleeding corpse lay on the couch of the Dursley's living room. Harry Potter sat nearby on the floor watching the tely and and stuffing his face with Cheetos, laughing and all around ignoring the dying boy.
"H-Harry...?"
Shame filtered through the bond. Self loathing too, and suddenly Hermione felt awful. "M-maybe... not so fun."
"I... didn't... Hermione I..."
"No. No, you showed me. I can't say I haven't had thoughts like that..."
Hermione had difficulty dredging up thoughts and forming them into pictures like Harry but she painstakingly did so. Third year. Draco Malfoy. She'd socked him in the face that day instead, but what she'd wanted to do had been far worse. What she'd wanted to do was cast an Accio on the boy's tongue. The resulting image still satisfied her in some sick way.
"Would've served the ferret right," Harry said. "Lets... go back to lighter things though."
"Yes... please." Hermione replied, feeling a little somber.
And for the first time in nearly four hours neither had or heard a thought.
"Err... Like what?" Harry asked, completely lost.
And Hermione had no idea.
Her thoughts whirled in a strange mixture that Harry wouldn't be able to understand as they came so quickly and so varied. She likened the situation to a long car drive with an acquaintance. For the first two hours or so the conversation would be fun. The pair might play word games and stumble upon common interests. Banter would be light and amicable until the pair realized that the topic is a passion for something utterly silly, like a love of a certain shoe brand or a single favored song.
Then as if running into a brick wall, they suddenly find that the great well of conversation, so easy to start, runs utterly dry. Both parties stall, trying to come up with conversation but realize that beyond that one shining topic they have absolutely no common interests.
That wasn't a good analogy, she realized, as she and Harry had been friends for years, but in this instance it fit. They'd been in each other's heads for four hours, and feeling each other's emotions for days.
Suddenly, there just wasn't anything to talk about.
"I... guess we should probably try to get some sleep," Hermione tried. "Maybe... we'll be able to figure out more in the morning."
"Y-Yeah. Okay. I'll... see you in the morning."
"I'll see you too Harry!"
But nothing was that simple. It was like the kiss goodnight at the doorstep, only to find yourself handcuffed to the other person.
Three hours later, the time was nearing four in the morning. Both were still wide awake, bleary eyed. Neither had been able to sleep a wink.
Hermione was exhausted. Despite his stringent effort not to speak to her, Harry had been absolutely unable to calm the series of thoughts that were almost constantly climbing through his mind. In turn, Hermione thought of more inane nothings and subtle intelligent nuances in one minute than most people might voice in a lifetime.
Harry dealt with Hermione's nearly incomprehensible babble of thoughts spinning around her love of learning, her fondness for Ron, her utter loathing of Gregory Goyle. Just that would've probably been alright. But he couldn't even begin to have suspected the endless endless lists the girl piled in her head. It is almost impossible to count the sheer number of thoughts that might cross a normal person's mind during the twilight just before sleep might take them. Hermione's brain was more efficient than any seven normal people combined.
They ranged from the ridiculously complex:
"-core of Element Zero contained by spinning Gyroscopic rings five kilometers across. In theory these fields, these... Relays if placed in deep space, could serve as a form of instantaneous transportation to muggle spacecraf–"
To the perilously mundane:
"I wonder if Ron has ever gone skinny dipping?"
Of course that particular thought had generated a picture of Harry staring at her with a half-lidded eye that almost screamed, "Really, Hermione? Really?"
Harry, for his part, was probably even worse. His thoughts often provided Hermione with vivid details of whatever abstract thing was on his mind at the time:
Harry was a scientist in a lab coat experimenting on Professor Snape's hair as it had coagulated into a brand new element on the periodic table. No, Harry was a hero from the middle ages stopping fat pompous lords like Vernon Dursley from taxing the poor people of his fiefdom, all of whom bore Harry Potter's face.
He saw a great chess board only there were four players instead of two, and each piece was lined with the House colors. Gryffindor and Slytherin practically trouncing the other two houses in their mad dive to get at each other's throats.
But that was temporary. Harry, being moody after all that had happened to him already, and stressed over Umbridge's attitude for this last year, was relatively self centered. Most his thoughts reflected upon himself. What he was. What he wanted to be. What he could be.
He was a master wizard and married to Parvarti Potter of all people. No. He was a pauper reviled because a girl saw him kiss a snake. No, he was a banker. No, he was a goblin banker.
He saw Tom Riddle summoning a basilisk from the mouth of Slytherin's statue. Weirdly, this image was comical as he couldn't stop making oral sex jokes.
He was a star Quidditch player.
No he was a horrible Quidditch player, wearing Chudley Cannon's colors.
He rode a joyous Hippogriff, an Asian beauty clutching his chest tightly. The feel of her was familiar, as she had the same grip Hermione had had in third year...
He was Cho Chang's lover and they kissed under starlight on the astronomy tower.
He was Ron Weasley and Hermione was kissing him in the broom closet.
…
He was horny.
"Really Harry? Really?"
Thoughts... pictures... emotions...
Endless... endless trade that neither could stop.
Soon, the two grew numb to the ridiculous thoughts each couldn't help but think. Neither had any control over what they thought... for who truly can control everything that crosses their mind?
Neither attended classes the next morning, or in fact for the entire next day. For by the time they had fallen asleep of sheer and utter exhaustion, it was nearly five in the morning.
And somewhere in the castle, Dumbledore hummed, having knowingly given the two leave to skip all of their classes away.
It would be a hard week... a hard year... a hard life for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. But Dumbledore was reasonably sure he'd finally solved a little mystery that had been plaguing him for so long. After all, James and Lily Potter had been able to get through it, and they'd bloody hated each other.
He munched on a lemon drop.
He had a dark secret. Hidden, buried as best he could for as long as he could remember, the boy of fifteen had kept this secret like hoarded treasure. Guarded it, bound it, and locked it away behind bar and key. But in the depths of cold nights, he sometimes dared to think upon his secret. His voice. His little power that he'd kept so hidden.
His parents didn't know. For they would exploit him and use his secret to better themselves. They were bad confidents and greedy. He wasn't smart but he wasn't stupid either. He knew enough not to dangle secrets in front of greedy people.
His friends didn't know. One was too sharp. Too smart. He would use the secret and forget about the person who gave it to him. The other, too stupid. He wouldn't even understand the secret at all.
And so the secret stayed hidden.
No one ever noticed that anything he predicted in Divination inevitably came true. He took care to only use his little secret on things that anyone with half a brick of common sense could figure out without it. To let it out in small, unnoticeable ways so it would remain hidden.
Though that was impossible. The secret. The power. It burned to be used. Normally he could control it. Tonight though, that secret, that burning itch that had always hidden just beyond the reach of others, bubbled to the surface, far too fiercely to hold back.
The young Diviner spoke.
No.
He sang.
"Long ago, High above,
was Terror torn asunder.
The starless fell!
Tyrael!
And song and dance and wonder.
Demon waltz, Devil sly,
was Terror still alive?
The starless slept!
And children wept.
The seven did survive.
Stone to stall, Word to bind,
weak Terror, sealed once more.
Little spirit,
Can you hear it?
What are you waiting for?
Stone to break, Word to wither!
was Terror taking flight?
Leah Cain!
Lightning Chain!
O Holy Pair Unite.
For Terror walks these halls tonight...
Yes, Terror walks these halls tonight..."
No one was awake to hear this strange song. He knew his gift was exceedingly rare. Most diviners couldn't remember true words from the beyond. Most forgot, or didn't even realize when they had been touched by it, let alone able to reach out and grab these hidden words on purpose.
For him it was as easy as reading a book. This was not the first prophecy he'd sung that had mentioned the Lightning Chain. He knew, he just knew that it had to have something to do with Potter's scar. That would only make sense!
But there was a piece missing. Lighting Chain. It was like his scar was linked to something... but what?
What?
The Slytherin student huddled under his covers as he finished writing the poem down on parchment by the light of his wand's lumos. This was a strong one, laced with meaning. He loved finding the hidden meanings behind his divination. He loved the puzzle, weirdly enough, as he was just as fond of eating cupcakes and growling menacingly at little firsties.
But eh. He was a complicated man.
And he had a secret.
Neville was a nervous sort of person. That had been slowly changing over the past few months. Little by little he felt slightly more confident. With each new meeting of the DA he felt himself growing in skill. He was starting to think of himself as valuable, fun even. His newfound friends had taken a liking to him and people went out of their way to sit next to him in the Great Halls.
Despite all of the crap Umbridge had pulled so far, Neville had to admit that this had so far been his best year at Hogwarts. He had friends, he was finally able to stop his bloody stuttering, or at least manage it, and his grades were sharply improving.
"Neville. I want you to hold me," said Luna Lovegood in a no nonsense tone.
Neville was a blubbering mess.
While his jaw hung open, Luna wandered directly into his bubble, turned around and laid her back gently against his chest. Still shocked out of his wits, the poor boy stumbled but didn't have far to fall as his back was next to one of the large stone walls.
"L-Luna, why are...!? What...?"
"Please hush... just..." She grabbed his arm and swung it around herself clutching it closely as if to draw warmth from it.
"Something... bad. Something bad is coming to Hogwarts. I'm afraid Neville... so... please?"
Another moment of stunned silence passed before Neville gained enough of his wits to comprehend her words. Still another passed before he reacted. His arm trailed around her to meet his other, locking together around her stomach in an embrace that anyone would've called adorable.
"Wh-why me? I... I'm..."
She tilted her head up, and Neville realized suddenly how very small she was. He blushed feverishly but a sudden sense of boyish heroism overtook him. If the girl felt scared then dammit he was a Longbottom! He'd protect her.
"Alright then," he finished with more confidence than he'd thought himself capable of. "Do you know what's coming, Luna. I'm sure Harry will need to know."
"Harry can find out later..." she thought, both annoyed and endeared by his reaction.
Her unvoiced words flittering around in her heart were selfish. She knew they were but she couldn't help it. Yes, something was coming. Something Terrible. And inevitably it would be up to Harry to stop it. But for now... for a little while... she wanted Neville to feel the Hero.
Because for some strange reason... he was to her.
Deep beneath Hogwarts, a glistening blood red gem cracked just a hair further.
"WAAAaghghg!" Hermione screamed in intangible horror. She'd woken up feeling refreshed. She'd yawned a languorous yawn, stretching with the morning and smiling to herself. What a great sleep!
And then reality filtered into her mind in its usual way.
"Aghghghh! I'm LATE!" She screeched.
She scrambled out of bed like a lunatic and her feet caught in her blankets; she tumbled headfirst onto the floor. The clock read 7:45. Class had begun forty five minutes ago! She'd... she'd never been late! This was all Harry's fault!
"Hermione! Calm down!" Lavender Brown's voice sounded in the background but Hermione barely even noticed in her mad rush. Her eyes darted around her wildly. She fumbled to get up from the mess of blankets she'd dragged to the floor with her with little success.
"Lavender!? What are you doing here! We're both late!" She screamed again in panic. Tears were nearly welling in her eyes as she dashed to her vanity an opened the lower drawer where she kept her next day's uniform. It was pressed and pristine as it always was but she didn't give it half the care it deserved, snatching it out of the drawer and madly pulling it on.
"Hermione!" Lavender's shout pierced the room just as she pulled her head out of the robe.
"What?!" She hissed back at the other girl, finally turning her eyes to her.
But Hermione almost instantly latched on to the problem...
It was 7:45 alright. At night. Moonlight faded in through the window, landing gently on the sill and flooding the room with a soft glow that was matched by the candlelight on Lavender's desk.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Lavender chuckled lightly at the bushy-haired girl. "Dumbledore stopped by early this morning. He excused you from classes. He asked one of us to watch you for the day and said you'd be exhausted. I volunteered. I... hope you don't mind."
"I... I..." for a moment the words didn't even register. Then her racing heart died down and she examined the words very slowly.
Excused. Watched... exhausted. Well yes, she certainly had been tired. Shrewdly, she gleaned the fact that Dumbledore knew that she and Harry wouldn't be getting any sleep last night. The old coot had known! Bloody old man. Why was she so faithful in him anyway?
But this was quickly overwhelmed by the inherent relief that simply flowed through her as she realized that the headmaster had excused her from her classes. There would be no repercussions other than being a bit behind.
Wait...
Oh no!
"My homewor–!"
"Right here, girl," said Lavender with a grin, lightly patting three books and a bit of paper with her own admittedly neater handwriting on the top. "Got six inches on the Episkey spell from Flitwick. Snape gave a bugger of a lot of study material and said there would be a test in two days. Pages 89 to 113. Nothing in Transfiguration. Lucky that, but my notes will tell you better than I can remember."
"Oh you're a lifesaver, Lavender!" Hermione cried and unexpectedly, found herself wrapping her arms around the other girl.
Many people would be startled by Hermione's enthusiasm but Lavender had lived with the girl for nearly five years now. You don't live close that long without picking up a few of the odd kinks others have, and Lavender knew well of Hermione's passion for her classes.
Honestly the girl was so cool and collected most the time. It was unnerving how much... power Hermione radiated sometimes. Particularly if she was studying with a purpose. Lavender remembered the girl reading about ways to breath underwater for Harry last year during the Triwizard tournament. Her dedication was... fearsome.
Seeing her worry and fret made Lavender feel much more at home than the near Ice Queen persona Hermione often displayed without even realizing it. Hermione wasn't cold. Just... distracted by her books most the time.
"No need to thank me! I knew you'd be devastated if you didn't have even one ounce of Homework. Why I'm sure you'd start feeling the withdrawal. Probably break out in hives. We'd find you clawing at one of the professor's doors in an hour or two begging for an assignment I'm sure."
Nearby Parvarti, whom Hermione hadn't noticed until now, laughed. Hermione blushed.
"I'm not that bad..." she murmured.
Lavender gave the girl a knowing raise of her eyebrow.
"Oh what do you know?" Hermione barked as she turned back to the vanity and began tugging off her school uniform.
Parvarti caught Lavender's eyes and gave her a strong gesture. The meaning was obvious. "Go on! Ask what happened!"
Lavender preened happy to be able to feed her love of gossip. What had Dumbledore excused Hermione and Harry from classes for? She had to know!
"So... what happened yesterday?"
"Yeah!" Parvarti intoned. "Why'd the Headmaster want you and Harry?"
"Does it have something to do with why you're–!"
Abruptly Lavender's question cut off, just as Hermione dragged her uniform off her head.
Dead Silence.
Hermione turned her eyes to her two roommates and frowned. Lavender's jaw was hanging open. Parvarti had raised a quivering finger to point without realizing she was even doing so.
"Wh-what? What is–?" Hermione tried to respond before she realized exactly what they were staring at.
Her Lightning Bolt Scar.
Unrest in the Heart of Britain
by Bartholomew Evinder
Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore. Need I say more? Conversations are already beginning around your living room tables at just these names alone. Both once commanded undeniable respect from the eyes of our world. Dumbledore for his actions and Potter for his anonymity and mysteriousness.
In recent years they have both been painted in a different light.
You've heard a thousand thousand rumors surrounding the Boy-Who-Lived. Last year he was the fourth champion in a National Tournament designed for only three competitors. He was famed then for his cleverness. Who else could dupe the ancient relic, the Goblet of Fire, into allowing him into such a prestigious tournament?
Not this Author, that is certain.
But for his actions then he was called a glory hound and an attention monger. A liar and a scoundrel. His strong showing in the competition lent a few points of credence to his flimsy story that someone else had put his name in, but only just that.
Then whatever good standing he had was crushed by the death of his co-competitor Cedric Diggory, and his ridiculous claim that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned from his grave.
Dumbledore was similar. Two years ago he was nearly removed from his position as headmaster due to inexplicable attacks upon students. Despite that setback he had been building his reputation back to its original glory rather quickly before the final event of the Triwizard Tournament.
All that was gone in an instant when he backed Harry Potter's claim.
Fool! Doddering halfwit! Nincompoop! He was called this and many more unsavory names for his belief in the Attention seeking "Brat-Who-Lived." Yet he held to his convictions as has Harry Potter.
Of course this had to be nonsense. Harry Potter has 'shown' himself to be a boy crying wolf. No evidence supports his claim! He had no proof, no scrap of detail, nor any story he was willing to give that would explain his sudden belief. Nothing except the body of the late Mr. Diggory, God Rest his Soul.
Recent events, however, suggest that Harry Potter, might not be the liar we all thought him to be after all.
In a recent press conference, Madam Delores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and High Inquisitor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, revealed that she had been attacked. The result of this attack has left the woman minus her left arm.
Further, she has been attacked by a Dark Wizard of evil intent. Her words were evasive at the conference, never directly stating what or who it was that attacked her. However, through her unspoken words, she implied heavily that she had forcibly removed her own arm rather than receive a certain... Mark.
In addition, she offered a formal apology for her words and actions to Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, before resigning from the position of Senior Undersecretary. It is unclear if she is resigning her Post as High Inquisitor at Hogwarts.
What does this all mean? Well. It could mean any number of things. Perhaps Umbridge was swayed by Potter's rumored charm, or perhaps she was saved from her attacker by Dumbledore's quick spell work. Whatever the case, this turn of events is unsettling.
Potter and Dumbledore have given ridiculous claims. But those of us who remember. Those of us who lived through the terrible years of You-Know-Who's tyranny have not forgotten. Potter may be an attention monger, and Dumbledore an old fool who has lost his touch with reality, but on the off chance we are wrong, then the Wizarding World will suffer dearly for its doubt in the two we once saw as heroes.
This article does not seek to sway opinion. Rather, it seeks to raise a rather worrisome question. What if? On the slightest, slightest chance that Harry Potter is telling the truth, do you want to be caught unaware?
This author does not.
The article spread through the great hall faster than fiend fire could spread through dried leaves. Some students were struck dumb by it. Umbridge had lost an arm? Harry might be telling the truth! No! That was impossible! You couldn't rise from the grave! Not even You-Know-Who could do that!
But... what if?
It was with mixed feelings that Ron Weasley lay down his copy of the Daily Prophet. The article had been short, but it was front page stuff. It was subtle and slow. Not an outright apology to Harry. Nooo that would reflect waaay too badly on the Ministry's reputation. The government didn't admit fault. Even Ron knew that.
His mind wasn't the sharpest, but even he could see this as the sudden olive branch that it was. None of the articles in the rest of the paper decried Harry's belief. None of the articles pointed out Dumbledore's years of lunacy. Instead they were insightful. Reviews of papers released fifteen years ago. Reminders of attacks committed by Death Eaters in the first war and shortly after the Dark Lord's fall. Catalogs for buying quality personal portkeys. Life Insurance ads. Communication Mirrors. All in all, it wasn't very subtle.
For the first time in more than half a year, Ron actually found himself enjoying the Daily Prophet.
"Amazing what comes of spouting something other than bullshit," he remarked idly as he turned the page. "Ooh, look a Protego-Buckler!"
"What's that?" Dean asked as he looked in over Ron's shoulder, curiously eying the paper.
"Pretty much exactly what it sounds like. Draws on your magic and projects a Protego for you when you put it on," Ron replied matter of factly. "New models barely drain your magic it all! My brother Charlie has one. Says it comes in handy for deflecting Dragon's fire."
"Awesome..." Dean breathed in the way only known to young boys when speaking of deadly things.
Ron gave a conspiratorial smile. "You know, my dad says we might go visit him this summer. Charlie said he might even be able to let us ride one!"
A slight exaggeration. Charlie had said they might get to touch one. But that meant pretty much the same thing to Ron who hadn't been within ten feet of a dragon since first year. Plus, just touching one wouldn't be impressive at all.
Ron then caught sight of a familiar pair tiredly entering the room. Guilt and worry slammed through him in equal parts. Admittedly a hair more for Hermione than for Harry. But only a hair. Harry had been utterly exhausted all day. He hadn't even budged when Ron had shaken him this morning, trying to wake him up. Luckily, Dumbledore had stopped by and asked him to watch over Harry for the day. A chance to skip class? Of course Ron had jumped on board. Harry didn't make a peep the whole day.
He'd heard Hermione was in a similar state and that had worried him for the most of the day. Seeing her awake, if tired, relieved him more than he cared to admit. Still, the striped scarf of red and gold around her neck served to remind him of her strength.
"Oi Hermione! Harry!" Ron called out from his seat waving his two friends over.
Whispers ran amok and several eyes stole curious glances at Harry as he walked, making him feel distinctly like it was fourth year all over again. Or second year. Or even first for that matter.
Hermione felt his discomfort and gave him a tired, yet reassuring smile. This was just another obstacle in a long list of things he'd already accomplished. Whatever the rumors were this time, he could get through them.
Through the bond she told him so and his slightly tired eyes lit with a beam.
"Damn, you two look like hell," Dean commented with all the subtlety of a shotgun.
Hermione glared. Harry did too.
"I hate your breath. You smell like treacle tart all the time!"
"You snore," Harry thought; then to Hermione he amended. "He bloody snores every night."
"We've had a rough time of it. I guess there was some sort of... aftershock from the attack," Harry put out tiredly trying to cover for their bedraggled appearance and inwardly rude bites back at the boy.
"Well I'm glad to see you two up again. Its a little late though. You just going to go back to sleep after dinner?" Ron asked curiously. He opened his arm to offer Hermione the seat right next to him.
She flushed giddily and sat, feeling Ron's arm settle over her shoulder.
Harry rolled his eyes, feeling Ron's arm settle over his shoulder.
"Probably," Hermione said as she began to pile some vegetables and a bit of chicken onto the bare plate already set out for her. Harry took the seat next to her and began to do the same, feeling terribly uncomfortable.
"Well, you might want to take a look at this before you head back up," Ron intoned gesturing vaguely to the paper placed before him.
"Oh what, now?" Harry groaned as he saw the Daily Prophet's hated letters and the moving pictures of what looked like an old photo of the... the Dark Lord? Well that was interesting.
The image was well known and famous. The person who'd taken the photo had died for his efforts but he'd managed to catch a photograph of Lord Voldemort descending upon him as he did so. Fifteen years gone. Harry's skin crawled. Voldemort looked every bit as menacing then as he did now.
Glancing over the top of the article he found rubbish.
"This article just snipes at me and Dumbledore all over again! I thought that Umbridge might change something!"
Ron shook his head. "No, read on. It's actually a decent article; I promise."
Harry did so.
Hermione, meanwhile, was greeted with a picture of the article in her mind that was blank of text but filled with the moving pictures. Without even looking over Harry's shoulder, she found herself reading along as the words appeared on Harry's mental image as he read them. Curiously, they faded quickly behind him once he'd finished reading them, dissolving into the depths of his mind.
"Hermione!" Came a shout from the Great Hall's entrance. It wasn't too loud but it did pierce the cacophony of conversation enough to catch the four Gryffindors' attention. "You can't run from us forever!"
The Granger girl moaned.
"Don't worry about it Hermione..." Harry said just a hair sarcastically. "This is just another obstacle on a long list of things you've already accomplished."
Hermione glared at him as she heard her own thoughts, meant to be reassuring, thrown back at her. Why was he being so spiteful?
Guilt.
"Sorry Hermione... It's just a little nice not to be in the spotlight for once," thought Harry, truly apologetic. Then a sort of wistfulness crept in. "Enjoy your fans!"
"Traitor!" Hermione screamed as Lavender and Parvarti rushed up to her.
"How did it happen!" Lavender exclaimed breathlessly.
Right on her heels, Parvarti added, "Are you okay? Does it hurt? You've got to tell us!"
"Tell them what?" Dean interjected confused as he also focused his gaze on Hermione. The girl shrunk in on herself, a little intimidated by the sudden attention.
"I... er..."
"She's the bloody Girl Who Lived, that's what!" Lavender nearly shouted.
Their conversation was drawing the curious eyes of other Gryffindors and not a few Hufflepuffs from the next table over.
Ron, surprisingly, broke it off before it could go any further, his tone suddenly low and menacing. "Drop that horseshit, Lavender. Harry's already got You-Know-Who trying to kill him every year," he nearly hissed, eyes white with near fury which startled everyone at the table. "Want him going after Hermione, too?"
Lavender's eyes widened in sudden horror and realization, her mouth forming a wide oh. Wringing her hands in sudden guilt she turned to face Hermione. "O-Oh... god I-I didn't think–!"
"A little harsh Ron," Harry thought.
Hermione, rather irritatingly in Harry's opinion, swooned and grimaced in equal parts.
"It's... it's okay, Ron." Hermione protested. "I'm just... glad to be alive."
The two girl's stood there guiltily wringing their hands. Neither wanted to say anything but both fidgeted, clearly almost begging Hermione for the story behind her new curse scar. Unnoticed by anyone, Dean too, had his eyes fixated on the Girl-Who-Lived.
Minister Fudge had a terrible glint in his eye. No one had ever seen him so... angry. Odder still, no one had ever heard him act so terribly confident. He'd always been a charismatic man, no doubt. He'd reached the highest level of authority in all the wizarding world and that spoke of, at the very least, a sharp tongue.
But he'd grown complacent since his last election. The populace had loved him and he had loved them in turn, rarely fearing for his place as Minister for Magic. He knew this.
Now, though? Everything had changed.
Now, he had an enemy.
No more time for games.
"Weasley," he said darkly as the clearly exhausted redhead entered the room. "I trust you got my message to the International Confederation? I put a lot of trust in you with that letter. You didn't let me down did you?"
Percy flushed a little. He'd been nervous as a schoolgirl on a first date but he'd managed to get the job done. "I read the letter at the meeting you called. It... well the ministers expressed their worries but they wanted to talk with you in person. I have a few of the more important messages: France, Germany, Belgium. The others said they'd be sending Owls."
Fudge nodded. "Good, good. Make sure those owls are intercepted quickly. And– wait a minute. Weren't you here at three this morning?"
Percy looked slightly abashed but gave a reluctant nod.
"Good god, boy, get out of here! I need you rested tomorrow!" Fudge barked sharply, knowing that Weasley would be worse than useless if he didn't get some sleep tonight. So would he for that matter. Inwardly, he longed for his red chair. But no. He was far too busy. Working behind his desk simply wouldn't be enough at the moment. Far too much to do.
"S-Sir. You've been up since then as well. I want to help! If... You-Know-Who really is back I..." Percy gulped audibly but stood firmly.
Fudge gave a thin smile. Yes. Weatherby really would make one hell of a Minister one day.
But not today.
"Go home. You've done more than enough today Weasley. And thank you. I'll be alright. I'll probably take my bed in no more than a few hours anyway. Send for Lilian. She's no you, but she'll do while you get some rest." Fudge said.
The boy preened, glowing with pride. And Fudge couldn't blame him. He wasn't exactly free with compliments after all.
"Yes sir."
As Percy left the room, Fudge sighed. Everything had been going so well. Dumbledore had to be right though. In retrospect, it was stupid of him not to trust the old man. How many times had he gone to Dumbledore for advice? Only now when the man was at his most wise, had Fudge denied his council.
'Fool. Foolish foolish fool,' he berated himself.
And the wizarding world would pay for his mistake. If Madam Umbridge was right, and she almost always was, then the world would pay in blood. Distressingly, she had resigned from her position as Senior Undersecretary, and Fudge found himself happy about that.
She'd been influenced by a dark object. Her opinions had been skewed, for months at least, maybe even years. She didn't remember how long she'd had the locket she spoke of. Had she inadvertently aided the return of the Dark Lord? Probably. He thought back to the Werewolf Registration Act. It had seemed so... out of character for her.
He'd never felt like such a failure in all his life. But he was the God-Damned Minister for Magic. And he had warning. A hell of alot more warning than Crouch had before Voldemort started his first war. That was an advantage. One that Fudge had to capitalize on.
He strode out of the Office of Historical Records, limping a little. He hadn't walked as much in a year as he had in the past two days. Worse, his eyes were tired. Reading was something he was used to of course. He'd been reading for half the day though whenever he could get a spare moment from preparing. Reading about the last war. Reading about Crouch. About the mistakes he'd made. About how Voldemort had infiltrated the Ministry. How every Auror raid was turned inside out. How men fell and died facing a force that seemed to know the Ministry's every plan.
He would not be another Crouch.
The door opened.
"Ah Lilian," He said quickly, stepping in beside the middle aged woman. "Tell me, have you gotten anywhere on those case files?"
"Y-Yes sir." She stuttered. Silly girl. She had no need to be nervous around a fat old mistake like Cornelius Fudge. She was anyway. They all were. Two days ago that had made him feel proud.
Now he felt like he'd let his whole country down.
He wouldn't have it.
He wouldn't.
'The article wasn't very subtle. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will probably realize that we've clued in to the fact that he is risen. Bah. Maybe it would've been better to let him believe we've still got our thumbs up our asses. Well, cat is probably out of the bag now. How to proceed...?'
He'd deliberated over this endlessly until he'd finally decided on a course. The history proved it, and surprisingly Fudge found himself in an eerily similar position to Crouch twenty years before.
The truth was that he had been taking bribes. Lucius Malfoy had held his ear, and he had trusted the man for a long time. But further digging had revealed a tiny, tiny portion of where the man's money was going.
Crippling the rights of werewolves. Reckless, even if Madam Umbridge had supported it. Budget cuts from the Aurors. Foolish. Slackening of the guards on Azkaban. Idiotic! A hundred quite firings of good employees, and a hundred quiet hirings of Knockturn Alley scum. It was as if this one puzzle piece had dropped a cascade of information that Fudge had previously been utterly blind to. Lucius had been weakening the Ministry from the inside all along.
God he was such a fool.
But, how to get things back to right? Well. First off, he had to deal with the corruption in the Ministry itself. Its defenders, the Aurors, were paramount.
Then, when he had a trustworthy force at his back, he would deal with Malfoy.
"Lilian. Take this note to the Head of Internal Affairs along with those case files you collected. Nabius Puckman, I believe his name is. Yes. Don't open it the letter. I'll know if it is opened by anyone but him. Give him the files, too."
She nodded.
Fudge nodded back at her and without a word the woman took off at near a sprint towards the elevators. Such a silent girl. Fudge found her a little odd.
No matter. The cases would be opened. Every case, in which a Death Eater had been freed for giving up other names. Every single one.
'Ah, right that reminds me. I'll have to make subtle inquiries to Belgium's minister. Karkaroff. Bloody hell, getting him is going to be a right shitstorm,' thought the minister.
He hobbled a little more quickly. It was nearly time.
A short elevator ride and a few doors saw Fudge walking into the Auror department. No words were exchanged. Their orders had all been given out directly, and randomly.
"A secret meeting will be occurring tonight. You are to be at the fourth trial hall, upper stairwell. Tell no one." He'd given these orders to almost a hundred different Aurors, each with a different place and a different time.
He gave Scrimgeour a nod, and the head auror followed him. The man would be his personal guard tonight, along with two other men who stood at Fudge's summons. Scrimgeour himself. Mad-Eye Moody, pulled from retirement, and Auror Arwood. Fudge trusted none as much as those three. Along with them came one other person.
William Vrienfreid was a tall man with a long black beard, and whispy hair. Probably in his forties the man was a little bit portley. He was completely unassuming and he had been Fudge's friend since they'd been in Hogwarts together. He was also a Master Legilimens. That wasn't the man's official title of course. But it was true nonetheless.
Fudge's plan was simple. He had often found in life, that simple plans worked best.
Three minutes later he found himself walking towards the first of many meetings he would be having tonight.
"Auror Greene." Fudge said in a cheerful, yet soft greeting. He didn't want to startle the Auror. This business was serious.
The man was a little skittish. It wasn't every day a lowly auror received direct orders from the Minister himself. Tall and wiry, he backed against the wall at the intimidating approach of Fudge flanked by his three guards and the Master Legilimens.
"M-Minister! Sir! Ah, Master Scrimgeour, good to see you tonight! W-What did you wish to speak with me about?"
"First, Auror. Tell me. Did you tell anyone of our meeting tonight? Anyone at all?"
Greene shook his head in a definite negative.
"O-Of course not sir. I wouldn't tell–agghhk!" Auror Greene twitched suddenly his head cocking as if he was suddenly bit by a horsefly on the side of his head. "Wh-what the hell?"
"He is lying." Vrienfreid uttered slowly.
Fudge glowered. The first one. The very first one.
"Auror Greene, you're under arrest."
The auror's eyes widened in sudden shock. "Wh-what! But I–!"
"Stupify."
Fudge sighed. This was going to be a long night, and worst of all the plan wasn't even all that efficient. The poor fools might've just told their wives, not realizing that this plan was a matter of national security. But if he could catch just one Death Eater, one traitor among his ranks, it would be worth it. He needed his Aurors loyal. Every last one. This was just an excuse to interrogate them. He just hoped his plans worked."
Or everyone would suffer for his stupidity.
"I'm coming for you Voldemort. Not the other way around. You messed with the wrong fat old man..."
End Chapter
Author's Notes:
Well its been a little while. My prereaders appear to have dropped off the face of the planet so I'm hunting for new ones. Anyone with an interest feel free to pm me!
As to the story, what did you think? I realize its starting to feel a little sporadic. That is intentional. The feel of quickly jumping from scene to scene and thought to thought is suppose to allude to the almost endless array of silly thoughts and fancies that run through our minds, and the sheer ridiculousness of having a second person's thoughts shoved in along side.
I hope I've done the concept justice. For once, I actually feel pretty good about this chapter. Its laying good groundwork for the future and has a little something from most of the major players. I really hope you all feel the same!
Please Review and let me know!
Till Next!
MB